Winter Solace
by jon3776
Summary: The Golden Trio is on the run, weak and wounded after four months of hunting Horcruxes and they take shelter in the last place anyone might think to look for them. While there, they will confront their hopes, fears and desires and emerge stronger on the


Winter Solace

By phoenixgod2000

Authors note: This is a response for the pottersplace3 November Challenge. It comes in at just under five thousand words. I want to thank my beta Sean Melton who helped me saw exactly what I wanted to—only it sounded better once he was done. For the record, just to head off any possible misunderstandings, I don't necessarily agree with any particular character and their stand on sex that they happen to espouse in this story. Teenage sexuality is a complicated issue and defies fortune cookie advice—even if it sounds like good advice.

That having been said, read and review.

* * *

Harry Potter staggered, falling to his knees in the snow.

"Easy there, mate." Ron Weasley whispered as he steadied his friend. "Not much farther." The redhead had blood dripping from three parallel gashes that ran down the side of his face, and the left sleeve of his robe was soaked in blood. His right arm was currently busy lifting the badly injured Harry upright.

"I thought you said the safe house was nearby." Hermione said crossly. The young witch limped along behind the two boys, her wand out discreetly as she surveyed the area suspiciously.

The three had been going for nearly four months. Four long months of hunting the remaining Horcruxes and searching for Voldemort's base of operations. Four months of duels, deadly battles, and magic of the darkest sort.

They had just finished destroying book of spells belonging to Rowena Ravenclaw, which had been secreted behind a gauntlet of traps in the catacombs beneath Paris. The weary trio had nearly reached the surface when they were ambushed by a group of French death eaters near the entrance to the catacombs. All three were severely hurt, but Harry had taken the worst of it after having flung himself in front of a deadly cutting spell meant for Hermione's back. Hermione had stemmed the worst of the damage with a hasty healing spell but Harry was weak and bleeding seriously from his stomach.

A brief but intense argument over whether Harry would make it back to England before needing medical attention ended when Ron recalled that Fleur had offered the use of several Delacour safe houses after hearing from Bill of their upcoming mission, one of which was in Paris. The immediate need for warmth and safety trumped the need to report their success to the Order so the haggard group limped into the darkness. Knowing that the remaining death eaters would hunt them, Hermione managed to throw up a few false spell signatures to confuse locator spells. It wasn't a permanent fix, but it might hold them off long enough to reach safety.

The sound of shuffling footsteps and Harry's labored breathing echoed eerily along the empty streets of Paris. A freak snowstorm had cleared the streets of all but a few brave souls, most of whom were far too concerned with avoiding the brunt of the unusually bad weather to concern themselves with three teenagers caught out in a storm.

Another twenty minutes of walking led them to a nondescript brownstone building. "This is it." Ron muttered to himself after mentally checking and rechecking the address. Using a large bronze knocker, he alerted the occupants.

The door slid open slightly, revealing light and warmth just on the other side of the door. Ron squinted into the unaccustomed brightness. "Um, hi. I'm Ron Weasley. Fleur… ummm… she said…"

"Come in." A musically accented voice interrupted.

* * *

The inside of the brownstone looked nothing like the outside. Gorgeous antique furniture, thick rugs, and a riot of paintings and flowers gave the house a beautiful, if antiquated, aura. Perfume and warmth filled the air and the sounds of a crackling fire and laughter drifted into the entry way from other rooms and corridors.

The woman who opened the door made Hermione stare in amazement and a little jealousy. She was stunning. Clearly of Italian ancestry, the woman was tall and slender, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Her thin, spaghetti-strapped nightgown was glossy black and did little to hide her full breasts and perfectly proportioned body. A cascade of hair the color black ink flowed long and smooth down her back with only a thin tracery of silver to indicate an age her face did not show. A face with strong features and a proud jaw line gave her the mien of a queen.

Whatever her beauty, she was also not one to be paralyzed by inaction. When she saw the state Harry was in she clapped her hands and a pair of young girls appeared. "Take _Signore _Potter upstairs and fetch Adolpho."

With surprising strength the two ingénues took Harry from Ron and led him up the stairs. Ron let a breath out in relief as Harry's weight was lifted from his aching shoulder.

"What is this place?" Hermione asked. "Who are you?" Her relief short-lived, the panicked questions poured forth from Hermione. "How do you know Fleur? Did you know that there are death eaters after us?"

The woman stepped forward and put a light finger to Hermione's lips. "I am Leona Francesca de Medici—

"And she works for my family." A familiar French voice interjected.

Ron and Hermione turned around at the same time. It was Fleur Delacour… make that Weasley. The quarter-veela wore a white dressing gown and had her silver blond mane loose and free. She was smiling at the two friends. "I am glad that you were able to find my offer useful, Ronald."

"Fleur, what is this place?" Hermione asked.

"This is one of the buildings my family uses for its businesses." Fleur explained.

"What business could they possibly conduct here?" Hermione questioned. She did her best to ignore the mirthful, knowing eyes of Leona behind her. Instead, she focused on the impassive face of the quarter-veela.

"The Delacours run the finest brothels in all of Europe." Fleur answered calmly.

* * *

Harry had lost track of the amount of time he'd spent staring out the window into the darkness when he heard the door open and quickly close behind him.

He'd woken in a strange room covered in bandages with the too-familiar feel of pain dulling potions working on his nerves. After ensuring that he was alone in the room, he'd slipped quietly from the warmth and comfort of the bed and moved to the window to get a bearing on his location and to determine how close the remaining death eaters were.

It was always death eaters. It was always close calls. It was always looking behind him, worrying about what might be there, what could hurt him or his friends.

But as he stared out the window he was mesmerized by the sight of the clean, perfect snow falling silently to the road and he sat there for what seemed like a very long time, occasionally leaning his forehead against the cool glass of the window. It was only the sound of the door behind him that brought him back to the world.

"I am glad to see that you are awake, 'Arry."

Harry smiled into the window at the refection of Fleur. Even the indistinct image of the veela girl was painfully beautiful. His eyes unfocused slightly and the falling snow outside mingled with her image, turning her into the very vision of an angel of snow and cold.

"Are Ron and Hermione okay?" Harry asked softly.

Fleur's image nodded. "Zey will be fine. The same healer zat treated you has given them some potions for their injuries. They were not as severe as yours. Of course, they did not throw themselves in front of a major severing charm. You are lucky you did not die."

Fleur voice was flat but Harry could hear the worry in it. He finally turned around to face the real person and shrugged. "I had to. It's Hermione. She and Ron should be at Hogwarts… doing homework, playing Quidditch, being Head Girl… instead they're both here and their fighting my battles. The least I can do is to protect them."

"They have chosen to stand beside you." Fleur told him.

"I know that, but that doesn't mean I don't worry." Harry answered. He smiled ruefully. "It seems like all I do these days is worry."

"It is wearing on you Harry. You look tired." The pretty veela ran the tips of her fingers along his cheek before giving his uninjured shoulder a soft squeeze.

Harry sat down on the edge of the bed and hung his head. "I am tired." He whispered. "So tired." Glancing up, he continued. "Did you know that I'd forgotten it was almost Christmas? How does somebody forget Christmas? Ron should be eating his mum's chocolate and Hermione should be wrapped up in a blanket at her parent's house, sipping cocoa and listening to her mum and dad tell Christmas stories. But no," he said bitterly, "they have to be here. With me, when I'm just going to end up letting them down."

"You're not going to let 'zem down." Fleur said sharply.

"Of course I am." Harry snapped. "We've barely gotten through the traps around his Horcruxes and they've nearly killed us at every turn. How can I face him? How can I win? They've sacrificed so much just for me and I don't…" Harry's voice trailed off and he rubbed his temples tiredly. "Sometimes it just all seems pointless." He finished wearily.

"You are exhausted, 'Arry. Exhausted and injured and things will be better once you have rested." Fleur said. "Stay here a few days. Sleep. Eat. Stare out from ze window. Brood, if you must, but rest." She instructed. "You are stretched as tight as a drum and you will burst if you don't relax. Please, 'Arry."

The Boy Who Lived was quiet for a moment. "If you're here, where's Bill?" he asked after a while.

Fleur's mouth quivered momentarily but she gamely hid it behind a brief smile. "'E is at my parent's Chateau in Champagne."

"He'll get better Fleur." Harry said quietly.

Fleur smiled gratefully at Harry. "_Merci, _Monsieur Potter."

Harry looked around the room. "Where are we, anyway? When Ron mentioned a safe house I was picturing a dank root cellar somewhere. Definitely not this, this is brilliant."

Fleur smiled. "This is a brothel that my family owns."

Harry let out a rich laugh. "A brothel? I bet Hermione just loves that."

* * *

Hermione was furious. Her statacco steps tapped out an angry beat as she paced back and forth in the room one of the girls had so thoughtfully lain out for her.

That she was currently wearing a positively indecent nightee did nothing to help her mood. One of the Brothel's whores had made off with her robes while Hermione had been bathing—probably to have them cleaned, but honestly, who dressed this way?

Besides, they might as well have left the robes alone. Cleaning charms were no doubt beyond their simple talents, Hermione thought to herself spitefully.

Leona appeared in the doorway, holding folded robes. "I have brought your robes, Hermione. It appears that you have frightened several of the younger girls."

"Thank you." Hermione said stiffly.

"You do not approve of what we do here, do you _Signora_?"

Hermione considered the queenly woman carefully. "No, I don't." she finally said. "This is a demeaning job. You let men degrade you for whatever purpose they will, and you do it for money; it's disgusting and backwards. Women should have progressed beyond using their bodies for men."

A small smile played about the woman's face. She walked over to Hermione and sat demurely on the bed, tracing a single finger absently along the bedclothes. "You judge easily, do you not?" she asked.

"Only when I think something is wrong." Hermione answered back defiantly.

The woman raised her arms to encompass the room. "We are queens here. Empresses of desire. Why do you think that demeans us?"

"Because you should be using your brains, not your bodies."

"You think the women here are stupid?"

"Yes." Hermione said. "I mean… no. I don't think they're stupid but I think they aren't working to their full potential."

"And the full potential of a person lies only within their minds and not their bodies? Because by using their body they degrade themselves?" Leona questioned.

"Yes."

"Hermione, are you not the same person who formed a society to protest the treatment of House Elves?"

Somewhat startled by the apparent non sequitor, Hermione answered "How did you hear about that?"

Leona's smirked ever so slightly. "The world is not so large a place that stories of Harry Potter and his friends have not reached us here. When it was discovered that Fleur knew the three of you personally, she spent many hours recounting the stories she had heard of you. We are after all, such simple girls and require constant amusement or we will get into trouble. This 'S.P.E.W.' was your creation, was it not?"

"Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing. Everything. I wonder, though, how the same person who rails against societal inequities for magical creatures can so blithely accept them for herself."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about." Hermione replied, annoyed.

"Chastity. Virtue. The politics of sexual purity. Antiquated notions intended to insure the integrity of male lineage, to reassure insecure men of their virility and dominance over women. The absolute double standard that you have apparently accepted for yourself without ever questioning why – male sexuality is encouraged, rewarded even, while female sexuality is simultaneously degraded: while 'boys will be boys,' young girls are taught to be ashamed of their bodies, that their desires are dirty and sinful. Why is it, Hermione, that a man can have as many partners as he wishes and be a 'bit of a lad,' but a woman who does the same is a slut?"

"So what are you saying, that I should run out and shag the next bloke that I see? Simply because I can?" Hermione retaliated.

"Not at all. But if you would deny yourself the pleasures of your own body, the giving and receiving of physical comfort with another simply because society might frown on it, you do yourself a grave injustice. Life is simply too short to confine yourself to societal expectations that exist for the sole purpose of convincing you to shackle yourself to a man. We witches have even less reason to do so. We cannot get pregnant unless we will it and most diseases are a simple potion away from a cure. Would it surprise you to learn that many famous and well known women have worked for at least a little while in a Delacour brothel, including several well known parliamentarians and Beauxbatons instructors?" Leona asked. "Or those wealthy purebloods who don't need the money work here because they enjoy it?"

Hermione sat down on the bed. "That would surprise me." She admitted.

Leona told her. "I am a wealthy pureblood who doesn't want for money, and do it because I enjoy it."

"Why?" Hermione asked. "You are a powerful witch. I can feel it. Why do you do this instead of something meaningful?"

"Because this is meaningful." The Italian pureblood said softly. "I love sex and am not afraid of my sexuality. I love the men and women who come to me. I am an island away from the stress of their lives. I make no demands on them, or they of me. I take care of them. Sometimes, I get men and woman who are scarred or unattractive, who no one else will touch. You don't see the look in their eyes when I touch them softly on their face or a scar and I don't recoil. People need to be loved. They need release, and sometimes they just need to let go of everything and just be. It makes me feel good to be needed, to be desired. You say why don't I do something meaningful and I reply to you, 'what is more meaningful than making someone feel loved—if even just for a little while'." She met Hermione's gaze. "I think a better question would be why you have such a problem with giving into to your desires? Something as basic as loving contact with another person? Why are you denying in yourself such great joy? Because, Hermione," she concluded with a smile, "I assure you that your mind with not leak away if you allow yourself to go after what you want. There is room for both a mind and passion inside you."

Hermione had no answer.

* * *

Ron wiped away the blood on his cheek and grimaced. The wound in his face had sealed up thanks to the doctor they invited it, but it was still fresh and would no doubt scar.

Ron had lots of scars now. He had the three on his back where a gargoyle had raked him across the back. That one had hurt. Of course, it hadn't hurt as much as the one on his thigh where he'd been run clean through by a rapier-wielding construct. Or the one on his chest, where the death eater with the flame whip had scorched him. Or any of the others…

Harry had it the worst, though, since all the bad guys seemed to target him. The only one who seemed to get by without scars was Hermione. Despite her injuries her body was as unmarred as ever.

Not that he had any first-hand knowledge.

Ron scrubbed his skin harder. He was frustrated by his female friend, by the never-ending dance they acted out around each other. He had admitted his feelings for her after Dumbledore's funeral and thought they might get together, but once they joined Harry at his house she had kept him at arms length. She was forever telling him later, later. He understood but at the same time…

What if there was no later?

"Is zis a bad time?"

A doe-eyed girl leaned against the door frame, knocking Ron abruptly from his thoughts. He recognized her as one of the girls who had taken Harry upstairs. She wore a plain white shirt that exposed an indecent amount of her rose petal soft skin to the air, with one strap dangling appealingly off the shoulder.

"No." Ron said quizzically. "Do you need something?"

The young girl sidled into the room. "Funny," she said. "I was just going to ask you the same thing."

"I'm… uhh… good?" the redhead ventured, completely at a loss.

He was confused. What was she doing here? It seemed clear that she was hitting on him, but that couldn't be right? Could it? This stuff simply didn't happen to Ron Weasley. It happened to Harry. Or Bill. Even Charlie had a few dragon groupies. But him?

The girl gave him a delicate pout. "Fleur told us what you were doing." She stepped close, pressing herself against the length of his body and rubbing a hand along his arm. "You are so brave. I thought you deserve something nice for change. A present." She finished with a smile.

The look in the girl's eyes left no doubt in Ron's mind what she was offering.

"I don't have any money." Ron said.

A frown creased the girls face and Ron realized that he had hurt her feelings. She stood on her toes and breathed slightly into his ear, "I haven't asked for any." She nipped slightly at his ear and pulled back. Ron shuddered a little. Who knew that teeth could be hot? The girl stared at him expectantly. Ron said the two hardest words in his entire life:

"I can't."

"You do not like girls?" she pouted.

"No, I do." Ron protested. "I like girls a lot. I love girls. But I can't just…"

"Zere is someone special?"

"Something like that. We haven't promised ourselves to each other but I…I just can't. It's not right."

The young girl stared at him for what seemed like an eternity before nodding once in understanding. "She is very lucky." She said with a note of longing in her voice. "I hope she realizes what she has." Without another word she slipped out of the room.

Ron sighed. "Don't worry." he said to the empty room. "She doesn't."

He heated some water from the sink in the room and splashed it on his face. He didn't even want to look at himself in the mirror right now. That girl had wanted him. Wanted him so bad he could practically taste her skin right now. And he had turned her down because he wanted Hermione. Needed Hermione. Regardless of everything else, he couldn't really even be sure that Hermione still wanted him after the Lavender Brown debacle. She was always pulling away. But sometimes… sometimes he'd catch her staring at him and he forgot everything that had ever made him mad at her. Reaching for a towel, Ron patted his face dry and found himself looking up at Hermione's image in the foggy mirror. She must have appeared while he'd been having his pity party. Her face was flushed and her eyes were bright. She bit her lip at stared at his reflection nervously.

"Is this a bad time?" Hermione asked, unconsciously echoing the girl who had disappeared only a moment earlier.

"Never a bad time for you." he said easily. And he meant it. Whatever happened between them, they were and always would be best friends. You couldn't spend months on the road, engaged in a running battle for their lives and not become closely bonded to each other. He, Harry, and Hermione had over time forged a bond that was inviolate and unbreakable. Most of the pettiness of the school years had faded away, leaving nothing but their ironclad friendship.

"I was talking with one of the women here." Hermione rushed out, "and she made me realize that I wasn't being fair to the women here and I wasn't being fair to you or myself either. That I should go after what I want and I shouldn't be afraid or think that it's bad or anything."

"Huh? Slow down 'Mione." Ron said. "I don't understand what you're saying."

"I'm tired of talking." Was Hermione's only verbal reply.

She lunged forward with the speed of a striking serpent, grabbing twin fistfuls of shirt and pressing her mouth tightly against Ron's. The redhead dropped his towel in surprise before curling his strong arms around Hermione's back.

Somehow the tiny girl maneuvered the much larger boy near the bed and pushed him down onto it. His shirt rode up slightly as he adjusted himself under her, and she lightly raked her short fingernails across his abdomen as she straddled him, pushing his shirt up and over his head. Ron wrapped his hands around her small waist. "Hermione," he said, "Are you sure we should…"

Hermione kissed him into silence. "No more talking Ron. And no more waiting. Just tell me: Is this still what you want?"

Ron's smile was all the answer she needed.

Nothing else was said after that.

* * *

"Let me guess." Harry said dryly. "Fleur sent you."

The wise-eyed woman in front of him shrugged and smiled mysteriously. "Few people can send me anywhere."

"I'm not good company right now." Harry said. "Fleur told me to rest for a few days, and I'm going to… against my better judgment. But I'm not doing what I think you're here for."

"Oh, I think you will, _Signore_ Potter. I can be very persuasive."

"Of that I have no doubt." Harry said flatly. He turned his back on the beautiful woman and returned to staring out the window. He could feel the weight of her presence as she approached behind him.

"You surprise me, Harry Potter." Leona whispered. "A young man like yourself. I expected you to be shyer, unsure of yourself, but you are not. You radiate strength of will and character – it is very attractive." She said with a smile.

Harry turned back around. The two of them were very close, close enough that he could taste the scent of the lotion she used. Up close, he saw the signs of aging that vanished from farther away: the tiny web of wrinkles gathered at the corner of each eye, the lines that crafted the borders of her smile. But the marks of age didn't detract from her appearance. Instead they heightened what was so very beautiful about her. Including her eyes. Dark, smoldering eyes that he found himself falling into despite himself.

"I don't have time to be that shy boy anymore." He told her. "I locked him away because he was going to get me killed. Get my friends killed. There's no place for him in a war."

"How very sad for me. I think I might have liked to meet this shy boy. I get the feeling that he is an extraordinary person." Leona whispered.

"Why are you here?" Harry asked in a tired voice.

She touched his face with the back of her hand, her knuckles resting in the hollows of his pronounced cheekbones. "You need me," she whispered flatly. "I go where I am needed."

"What exactly do I need?" Harry asked.

"You need to forget. You need to be a man with no cares in the world. You need to remind yourself that there is something worth living for, as well as something worth dying for. I have known many soldiers and I have seen the look in your eye before." Leona said sadly, "and it pains me to see you so afflicted."

Harry closed his eyes and drew a deep shuddering breath. He could feel the woman's hands on his face. "I'm so tired." He said in a broken tone. "Tired of fighting. Tired of killing. Tired of watching my back day after day. And for what? So my friends can get a collection of scars to match mine? So I can protect a world that doesn't give a damn about me except for what I can do for it?" Harry threw up his hands and cried "Merlin! I can't even decide if I loved the old man or hated him for leaving me with the people who raised me, and he's dead. What kind of person does that make me?"

Leona kissed him.

Harry leaned into the kiss. He grabbed her with strong arms and held her in place. His hands roamed her body, still firm and toned despite her age. He couldn't get enough. He knew that some of the boys in the dorms who had done the deed had talked about foreplay being a chore. Harry couldn't understand that. The simple act of touching, of knowing a woman was yours was intoxicating. There was nothing more erotic than exploring another body, of partaking of what was offered so willingly.

Nothing.

Finally, he broke away the kiss with a smile. "You are good." He admitted.

"You are not without talents as well Harry." Leona said a bit breathlessly.

"We can't do this." Harry said. "I have a girlfriend. Or at least I did." He amended. "She's still someone I care about, and someone I want to return to when this was over – if she'll still have me."

"She would not begrudge you comfort in your hour of need."

"You've never met Ginny Weasley." Harry said with a smile.

Leona kissed him gently on the lips. "It is up to you Harry. I am here for you. For your comfort if you wish it." She stepped back slightly and touched the straps of her sleeping dress. They parted at her touch and the black material pooled at her feet, leaving her bare before Harry.

"You don't fight fair." Harry noted with amusement.

"No, I do not."

Harry studied the beautiful woman. She was as stunning as he knew she would be. But there was more than simple beauty: the tilt of her head, the delicate curve of her hips, the subtle way she altered her breathing so that her breasts danced on her chest. They all worked together to create a nearly irresistible portrait of feminine grace.

So Harry chose not to resist, not to fight. If there was fallout, he'd deal with it later. For once, Harry decided to do something just for himself.

* * *

Fleur scratched out a few figures on the scroll that served for that month's expense ledger. Pausing for a moment, she allowed a small smile to flit across her face.

The freak snowstorm really had been a stroke of good luck. Fleur had been shocked when she'd seen her three young friends. They had been pushed so far, so fast, that they were on the edge of breaking yet none of them realized it. They needed a real break from fighting and she was just the person to give it to them.

The subtle charms on the building opened everyone inside to be a little more open, a little more adventurous. Not enough to do something they didn't already wish, but they proved very useful for getting shy individuals to open up and realize their true fantasies.

Now the snowstorm was going to force them to spend the next several days cooped up inside with nothing to do but refresh themselves. It was Fleur's present to them and she just knew that it was what they truly wanted even if they could never speak of it.

Knowing one's innermost desires was after all, her job.

* * *

Read and review 


End file.
